


cracked porcelain

by hicsvntdracones



Series: hq asoiaf au [5]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - A Song of Ice and Fire, M/M, Past Abuse, dark smut i'm really so sorry omfg, this is depressing lmao i'm sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-16
Updated: 2015-07-16
Packaged: 2018-04-09 15:33:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4354433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hicsvntdracones/pseuds/hicsvntdracones
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Why won't you make a single sound?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	cracked porcelain

**Author's Note:**

> uhhhhhhhh. this is 1000000% soph's fault. [...only not really. it's like 999999% my fault and 1% soph b/c i am weak to depressed!yahaba lmao.] this is really dark ok. set when yahaba & kyou are in highgarden sometime after ch3, focuses more on yahaba's past relationship instead of his current bedmate kyoutani. [bonus points if you figure out who yahaba is thinking of hahaha;;;;;;;;;]

He tries to think of the smell of trees blowing gently in the night wind. Walking through the orchards of apricots had been so lovely, and soon peaches would be in bloom. He tries to think of the gentle summer sun, a beautiful warmth on his back. He tries not to remember the nails digging into his flesh or the thick scent of sex.   
  
Yahaba's head is dizzy. He can feel the sweat dripping down the side of his face, sliding down the curve of his back to where his body meets another's. Summer is approaching, and the heat will be sweltering this year. The suffocating humidity mixed with sweat leaves Yahaba unable to breathe well. He inhales the smell of trees and tries to focus on the feeling of silk sheets against his forearms, the weight of his knees against the goose-feather bed. He can feel the other nudging his graying hair aside with his nose to reveal the nape of his neck for biting. The scrape of teeth along his neck sends an awful, crawling feeling down his spine. He wants to tell him to stop.   
  
He doesn't want to be marked. He doesn't want to be marred by this violence and sex.   
  
He wants to forget Kyoutani is inside him.   
  
Teeth sink harder into his shoulder, and he bites his own lip so not to cry out. He focuses on the throbbing feeling of blood swelling at the bite instead of the quickening thrusts behind him. With each erratic heartbeat, an almost delusional feeling overwhelms him. Woozy, he swears the hands clutching his hips are thinner, with lanky fingers and smoother skin.   
  
"Sweet Shigeru—" He hears softly in the space between them. His heart catches in his throat as he feels the other's hand begin to stroke his thighs. He thumbs circles, teasing little circles above Yahaba's slick hole as he fills him, fucks him. He refuses to say they are making love. The mere thought of this act being lovely makes his stomach curl.   
  
"Shigeru, Shigeru—" He feels the hands slide up his back, grip his shoulder firmly as the pace slows. He tenses as the whispers brush against his hair, but his partner lightly kneads his thumbs along the tight muscles of his neck. His head lulls downward, sweat prickling at his forehead as he melts under those thin, beautiful hands. He hates how his sex hardens under the touch, hates how he wants to let his knees go weak so he can feel the silk rub against his swollen cock. He wants this to be done. He needs to be able to breathe again, to feel his heart stop racing for just a few moments at least.   
  
"Why won't you cry out, my sweetling?" Roses fill his senses. A gentle perfume. The prickling thorns of pain.   
  
"Why won't you call my name?" His eyes flutter closed as these words weave themselves around his mind. Cry out, call my name. These commands are punctuated by a deep thrust, hitting Yahaba perfectly inside and making him squirm with pleasure.   
  
He doesn't want to say his name, he doesn't want this to be real.   
  
His arms give out underneath him, and he collapses, cheek pressed to the sheets, his bitten and bruised lower lip dragging as he forces his moans to stay inside. The room reeks of roses and fucking. He cannot remember the trees, only the cock slamming into him and the hands grasping his waist.   
  
"Shigeru." He bites down on his lip too hard as a snarl from his partner and a hard thrust suddenly snap him out of his haze. Kyoutani is behind him, fucking him, marking him with tanned, calloused hands and teeth that sting. The smell of sweat and sand clings to him from the training yard, and Yahaba finally stutters a gasp as he realizes this.   
  
"Fuck—" Kyoutani groans lowly, and Yahaba can feel his pace becoming more harsh in the desperation for release. "Why... Why are you so quiet?" He asks between thrusts. It must not be satisfying to fuck someone in silence. Yahaba must seem like a little doll, accepting his cock in his ass like this for what must be the dozenth time. No fight, no argument anymore. Just silence and the slick sound of skin against skin.   
  
"Why won't you make a single damn sound?" Yahaba is unsure of how to respond, if at all. How can he tell Kyoutani that he is unable to speak. The sound of his own voice, filled with sex and shame, makes him want to cringe and cry. It was not even Kyoutani's name on his lips just now. How does he say this.   
  
"You are enjoying this, no? You're so stiff for me, you know. Your pretty little ass takes my cock so perfectly." His thick hands stroke Yahaba's ass again, and Yahaba clenches slightly when Kyoutani's fingertips dig into his softer curves. "Aren't you pleased?" He asks in a husky tone, words scraping like teeth along Yahaba's nerves.   
  
"Aren't you pleased?" He remembers hearing. "Isn't this what you wanted?" He had tried to close his eyes, forget the hazy imagine of a lean and beautiful man above him. He does not turn to look at Kyoutani behind him now.   
  
"Didn't you want my love, sweet Shigeru?"   
  
There is no roughness anymore, only easy, shallow movements that stir the burning heat in Yahaba's gut further. He holds apart Yahaba's cheeks apart, and for a moment, Kyoutani's cock slips out, only for him to push the head back in. It is slow and slippery, and the tenderness of it surprises Yahaba so much that he lets out a little moan. He hears that name again, almost like it isn't even his own. Shigeru, Shigeru. His head spins with heat and humiliation as he feels his climax nearing. Kyoutani holds back. For him. He is treating Yahaba like a doll. Not the silence, pretty thing but like someone who could be broken.   
  
Or maybe someone who already is.   
  
The touch of Kyoutani's hand on his own sex coaxes out a pathetic, awful whimper. Cry out, he hears. Say my name.   
  
Yahaba chokes on the name. He feels his heart coming up through his throat. If he vomited, he would gag on the roses clinging to his lungs. He can feel the thorns digging into each inch of his veins at this very second. The sob escapes him before the name does, and when he weeps, he breaks even further. His skin burns where Kyoutani's hands have touched him, his eyes burn from tears. As soon as he began as to cry, Kyoutani tears himself away from Yahaba. Blessedly, he feels the hands leave him, but instead of relief, he just feels more shame. He wants to pull the sheets over his body, he wants to utterly disappear. He never asked to be desired so intensely. He never asked to be broken so sweetly.   
  
Without even a word, Kyoutani clambers off the bed so that he can gather the sheets they shoved away earlier. He wraps Yahaba gently in the smooth silks and makes sure not to touch his skin directly anymore.   
  
"Shigeru?"   
  
"Don't—!" His hand is around Kyoutani's throat before he realizes. The look he gives is one of shock and then, slow realization. He sees Yahaba, perhaps for the first time. He sees how broken he truly is. He is not a pretty little doll. He is cracked and dirtied and disgusting inside.   
  
Yahaba is a rose with all its pretty, sweet petals plucked off. Only the cruel thorns remain.   
  
He cannot think of trees anymore. He cannot think of the soft, summer sun.


End file.
